The new Earl had matured into a handsome man, Charlotte admitted to herself as she rode away, remembering the slight figure he had been at twenty-one, good-looking, yes, with his curly brown hair and classical features, but proud and disdainful, disdainful enough to humiliate her beyond endurance. But she had been proud too and that meant not showing her hurt. Nor would she remind him of it now. If he had forgotten her, so much the better. But they were sworn enemies and would remain so.
She slowed to a walk, ruminating on what had happened six years before and all her anger bubbled up again. It had been her fathers wish to be accepted by society, and to that end he had entertained and had brought in teachers to show Charlotte the accomplishments a lady should have, including sewing, drawing and dancing, none of which she had particularly enjoyed. Besides, it was too late by then, her unconventional character had already been formed and she found it impossible to change, but to a certain extent he had achieved his aim simply because he was the richest man for miles around and could make or break any man he chose, and that included the Earl of Amerleigh. But not his cub.
To be rejected by a stiff-necked, conceited sprig, in a voice loud enough to be heard by anyone standing within ten feet of him, had been the outside of enough. It was the first time her fathers money had not been able to buy whatever and whomever he liked. Hoyden, the sprig had called her. Well, she supposed that was not so far from the truth. And plain. Was she plain? Her father had assured her she was not, that she was every bit as beautiful as her lovely mother had been, and the silly young fop needed his eyes seeing to. But looking in the mirror on her return home from the ball which both fathers had confidently expected to end in the announcement of the engagement of their respective offspring, she had admitted that perhaps Roland Temple had the right of it. And coming to that conclusion had in no way lessened her sense of grievance; if anything, it had heightened it. Oh, how she wished her father had never made that bargain with the late Earl. But wishing did not mean she would undo what he had done. Never, never, never.
She entered by the wrought-iron gates of Mandeville and was filled with the pride of possession. The red sandstone mansion ahead of her had been built by her father to tell the world how a mere nobody could, by dint of hard work and clever management, make a mint of money. It stood out from the surrounding countryside because the great trees that had been planted to make the park were still in their infancy, though there were several decorative trees and shrubs in the gardens near the house. Given a few more years, Mandeville would rival the best country seat in the area, if not the whole county. It already outshone Amerleigh Hall, which was crumbling into ruin.
She rode round the house and dismounted at the stables, an extensive range of buildings which housed several riding horses, four carriage horses and a couple of ponies. In the adjacent coach house there was a well-sprung travelling coach, a phaeton and a curricle. Having given Bonny Boy to a groom to be looked after, she ordered one of the ponies to be harnessed to the curricle and went into the house by a side door which took her through the kitchens.
She exchanged news with Mrs Cater, her cook, asked May, the scullion, about her chilblains for which she had provided an ointment, stroked the kitchen cat, which purred in delight, then went up to her room to change for the business of the day. She took not the slightest notice of the pictures that lined the walls nor the costly ornaments and furniture, all purchased by her father to impress. Her booted feet sank into the deep pile of the carpet, oblivious of the footprints she left behind. She was thinking of her encounter with the Earl and trying not to let it bother her.
Once in her bedroom, she flung off her riding coat and skirt, peeled off the breeches and washed quickly in cold water from the jug on her toilet table. Then she dressed in a plain grey skirt, a white shirt and a black bombazine jacket tailored like a mans and fastened with braided frogging. This was the outfit she had devised to go to business, not quite mannish because it fitted her neat figure perfectly, but near enough to tell everyone she meant business and would stand no nonsense. She pinned up her wayward hair and, disdaining a bonnet, topped it with a tall beaver hat with a sweeping feather. Her riding boots she changed for half-boots in fine black leather, and thus apparelled, returned downstairs where the curricle was waiting for her to drive herself down to the valley where the cotton mill stood beside a fast-flowing tributary of the Severn.
She had been away a year and in that time the measures she had put in hand to improve the conditions of the mill hands had been allowed to go by default. She had come back to find the schoolroom unused and the children had returned to the long hours and unhealthy conditions that had been prevalent when her father first took over the business from his father-in-law many years before. Mr Brock, there is a law about schooling the children we employ, which we have to obey, as you very well know, she had reminded him, though she had gone far beyond the minimal lessons she was required to provide. We are no less bound by it than anyone else.
We had large orders to fill, he told her. We needed every hand to the looms or the ship would have sailed half-loaded. Your father would never have allowed that. Reminding her what her father would or would not have done seemed to be his way of objecting to her orders.
She needed Brock for the day-to-day running of the mill and so they had compromised on the hours of work and the amount of schooling the children had. She intended, little by little, to wear him down and have her own way. In the meantime she trod carefully and diplomatically, only too aware that as a woman she was despised; as the richest mill owner in the district she was treated with deference larded with a certain amount of contempt. She straightened her back, put her chin up and pretended not to mind.
Today, she inspected everything, watched the shuttles flying across the looms for several minutes, spoke to the mill manager about production schedules, dealt with her correspondence and gave a few orders, something she did almost every day of her life. Though she appeared to be her usual self, there was, beneath the cool exterior, a fluttering in the pit of her stomach, a feeling of unease, as if something was hanging over her, not quite a threat, but something that could upset her well-ordered routine. It did not take much puzzling on her part to put it down to the arrival of the new Earl of Amerleigh.
Roland rode on, noting, as he neared his home, that everything was looking decidedly neglected. Hedges were growing wild, ditches were uncleared, the workers cottages in disrepair. He stopped and dismounted at the church and went inside to look at the family vault. His fathers name, newly carved, was the last of a long line. He supposed his own name would be added in due time. Pushing such morbid thoughts from him, he returned to the road where Travers waited patiently with the horses, and they rode on towards the big house whose great chimneys and crenellated walls could be seen through a gap in the trees.
It had stood in its surrounding deer park since Elizabeth was queen and Harold Temple had become rich plundering the seas for his monarch and been made an earl on the strength of it. Succeeding members of the family had added to the house, furnished it lavishly and held sway over the village, from which it took its name, or perhaps the village grew up after the houseRoland had never been sure. Now it had a forlorn and dismal air. The lawns were uncut, the flower beds and gravel drive full of weeds. He noticed a broken window and peeling paintwork.
Roland rode on past it, down a long path beside what had once been a thriving garden and out on to a lane that led to the dower house. It was a square, red-brick building, having only a sitting room, a dining room, a parlour and four bedrooms as well as the usual offices. When he had left home six years before, it had been occupied by his grandmother, but she had died while he had been away. He had been very fond of the old lady who had defied her son and left Roland an annuity, not grand, but enough to provide him with a measure of independence, for which he was very grateful. He dismounted and handed his reins to Travers, then strode up to the door.
It was opened before he reached it and his mother flew out and into his arms. Roland, oh, Roland, you are home at last. I have been praying for you to come and now you are here. Let me look at you. She stood back to appraise him. She saw not the slim, half-grown youth who had left home, but a mature, battle-hardened man, tall, broad shouldered, weatherbeaten. You have changed.
It has been six years, he said with a smile. It was not only physically he had changed; his character had matured too. The young man who had been haughty and proud, who felt himself, as the son of an earl, to be a superior being to the man who ploughed the fields, was gone. He had learned a little humility, to judge people on merit, not on their position in society. Rank in society was not the same as rank in the army and he much preferred to be known as Major, a position he had earned, than to be made much of on account of his title.
Oh, you dont know how I have longed for you to come home, she said, leading him into the house.
He paused to speak to Travers. Find the stables and see to the horses, Ill join you when I can.
Did you receive my letters? she asked, as they stepped into the hall and she relieved him of his riding cloak and hat. She was, he noticed, very thin, her face lined with worry, and he was sorry if he had been responsible for putting any of the lines there. And though she was dressed in deepest mourning, her blue eyes shone and her mouth smiled with joy at having him home again. I wondered why you did not come at once.
I was away from headquarters and could not be contacted, he said, following her into the drawing room and refraining from reminding her that his letters home had gone unanswered. It was nearly two months before I returned and your first letter was put into my hand, only the day before the second arrived. I came as soon as I could. I am only sorry I did not arrive in time.
Never mind, you are here now. Sit down and let me look at you.
Roland pulled up a chair and sat on it, his head full of what he had seen: the poor state of the big house, the neglected air about the village, the arrogant Miss Cartwright and her assertion Browhill did not belong to the Amerleigh estate. When and why had it changed hands?
You are grown so big and strong, his mother went on.
That is down to the army, Mama. It made a man of the boy.
You will always be my boy.
He smiled and reached for her hand. I know. He paused. I passed the house. It looked thoroughly neglected. What happened?
It is a long story. Your papa lost heart after you left. He did not seem able to do the work he always used to do and things went from bad to worse. Two years ago he had a seizure and Dr Sumner said he was not to be worried. I wanted to write and tell you what was happening, but your father forbade it. We moved here so that he might be peaceful and hoped to let the house, but there were no takers. After his last attack he suddenly changed his mind and said he must see you.
I am deeply sorry I was too late. I would have been glad to be reconciled with him. Did he ever forgive me?
I think so, though I always thought there was nothing to forgive, except perhaps your hasty departure, when he might have come round to listening to you, and you to him.
Roland did not think so, but forbore to say so. What would you have me do?
It was his wish that you restore the Hall. It is, after all, your home. It has been the home of the Amerleighs for hundreds of years. One day you will marry and pass it on to your sons.
I know, Mama. He gave a sigh. From what he had seen, it would be a monumental task and one that would take every penny he owned and more. I had better see Mount-ford and talk it over with him.
Yes. He will tell you about the lawsuit.
His heart sank. The lawsuit?
Yes, your father was in dispute with Mr Cartwright over a strip of land that he said the man had cheated him out of.
Browhill?
Yes, how did you know?
I came that way and met Miss Cartwright. He smiled wryly at the memory. We had a few words about it.
Oh, no, not you too. Will there be no end to it?
I do not know. Tell me what happened.
Later. Now, I must go and have a room made ready for you, then you can change and we will have dinner. She bustled away.
He sat on for a few minutes, gazing at a portrait of his father that hung over the mantel. It showed a big, proud man, master of all he surveyed, supremely confident. How had he come to be so far in debt he had had to leave his ancestral home? His mother seemed reluctant to tell him.
He stood up and left the room to go in search of her and found her in one of the bedrooms supervising the making up of a bed for him. His portmanteau and haversack had been brought up and put on a chest under the window. A jug of hot water had been placed on the wash stand. There, will that do? she asked.
Very well, Mama. I am used to far less than this.
Come down when you are ready. I do not know what Mrs Burrows is making for dinner, but I am sure she will do her best.
He washed quickly, changed his shirt, put on his best uniform and returned downstairs where they were served a simple meal in the dining room by Mr Burrows. He had been the butler even longer than his wife had been the cook. He had always been one to stand on his dignity in the hierarchy of the servants quarters and held sway over at least twenty indoor servants. Now, according to his mother, Mr and Mrs Burrows and one girl were all the indoor staff they had.
And outside? he asked, after Burrows had left them to serve themselves. Gardeners, coachmen, grooms?
We go out so little I cannot remember the last time the coach came out. I drive the gig when I want to go calling or shopping. We only have one horse and Bennett looks after it. He still does the garden and keeps an eye on the big house.
Roland speared a piece of mutton on his fork. Is that all thats left?
Yes, but we do not need them here and would have no room for them in any case. Some of them went to Mandeville. Jacob Edwards has done very well there. You remember him; he is a year or two older than you. He used to share your lessons before you went away to school and you used to go fishing together in the holidays.
I remember. Jacob had been with him the first time either of them had set eyes on Charlotte Cartwright. It was at a horse fair that had come to Amerleigh. The boys had been enjoying themselves going round all the stalls and listening to the banter of the stallholders and had stopped at a shooting range where a row of wooden ducks were set up for the contestants to shoot down. Jacob tried first and had hit seven of the ten. Roland had his turn and hit the first nine, but failed at the last.